The Harsh Winter, Book One: Silence
by GalaxyForce
Summary: [Book One of Four] A fan novelization of Penny Arcade Adventures, and episodic point-and-click/RPG by Hothead Games and later Zeboyd Games, based on the popular web-comic. The story follows Carlos Winter, who teams up with Tycho and Gabe to get revenge on a giant robot that destroys his house. But something eldrich lies within the case...
1. Chapter 1: The Beginining

First fic, yay! Penny Arcade is owned by Jerry Holkins and Mike Krahulik. Penny Arcade Adventures: Episode 1 was created by Hothead Games and is not owned by me. I own nothing by my words,

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><p><em>Four Gods wait on the windowsill,<em>

_Where once Eight Gods did war and will._

_And if the Gods Themselves may die,_

_What does that say for you and I?_

First verse of _The_ _Quartet of the Dusk of Man_, Tycho Ephemerous Brahe

**New Arcadia, 1922**

I stretch my arms and yawn as the sun rises over my perfect life, in my perfect neighborhood, on this perfect morning, in the… _mostly _perfect burg of New Arcadia. I say "_mostly _perfect" because from the city's metaphorical fingertips to its metaphorical black heart it oozes with crime, corruption, poverty, and oh, so much evil! But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The name's Carlos Winters; you may call me Winter. Not Carlos, nor Carl, or Winters, or Mr. Winters, or Snowy –**especially** not Snowy- just Winter. I'm just your average, everyday, run-of-the-mill, tax-paying, law-abiding citizen of this load-of-bull city. I live on Desperation Street (called that because you'd have to be quite desperate to buy a house there), just to the left of the house at the veeeeery end. I've got no friends (blame that on the fact that 99.98% of the people in this damned city is a complete asshole), but that dosen't bother me, nope, not one bit. I mean, I have my hobbies, including, but not limited to: lounging about doing nothing, snarking at passersby, being a total loser, and gardening.

I don't not mean to brag, but I am quite skilled in the field (pun intended) of gardening. My flower patch out back has three fucking colors of roses in it and I can rake up tons of leaves in less than an hour. In fact, that's why I was outside on that day; autumn has just started to settle in, like a deadbeat couch surfer at a family reunion, and I was raking up some leaves that _dare_ to trespass on my lawn. I gave them a good raking and bunched them up into one small pile much too big to be a cluster and yet too small to be a heap.

After smiting the floral invaders, I sighed an accomplished sigh and started to untense my muscles. It was at this time that –as my guard was lowered- another, single, villainous leaf decided to ambush me on the front. Groaning in annoyance, I grabbed my trusty rake once again and began to lean over to vanquish this lone survivor, but then I felt something: A tremor; a mediocrely strong tremor, strong enough to give me pause. I looked around for the source… Nothing. _It's definitely nothing, _I think to myself, shrugging, before returning to my work.

As the corpse of my fallen enemy enters the pile-up of the now-deceased army of plantlife, more tremors appear, steadily growing in power and, like a fool, I ignore them, at least until a large shadow falls over me. _This _is enough to get me to turn around and look. And what a look it was; behind me was one huge –and I mean **huge**- motherfucker easily towering over my simple, one story abode. Although the lack of proper lighting in the dawn prevented me from catching all of the beast's features, the fucker's size and glowing red eyes made me freeze up in terror.

As I repeated my Zen mantra in my head…

_HOLY FUCKING SHIT! HOLY FUCKING SHIT! HOLY FUCKING SHIT-!_

…The monstrosity raised its leg to take one big step forward, presumably on me. Fortunately, the step was not on me. Unfortunately, it was on my house.

_…My…house…_

_…My fucking house!_

Mt mouth left agape in shock, the giant continued on its way, making strange whirring noises as it trudged down the lane and leaving footprints in the asphalt of the roads, I was able to get a better look at the creature from behind. It was rather bulky and cylindrical in appearance and steam puffed out of a spew on its head as it moved. There were simple, razory digits on its hands and it appeared to be mechanical in origin. What were those fancy-shmancy science dudes calling those things? Row bods? Yeah, something like that.

_Things are far worse than I imagined. _spoke a voice in my head. _I thought we had all afternoon, at least. We were even going to windsurf, weather permitting. _I has planned to windsurf later that day, but it probably wouldn't've happened due to my lack of fundings or enthusiasm or knowledge of where the fuck one _can_ windsurf.

I've had this voice talking to me in my head for quite some time. I don't remember when he showed up, or even why, for that matter. He's just kinda… there. He's asked that I do not dwell on his "mysterious identity." I dwelled on it for about a year or so before deciding that I don't give a rat's ass, not that he was convinced. He still urges me not to because, and I quote, "Your life, and the lives of others, may well depend on it." I doubt that but, as I said, I don't care. He hasn't ever hurt me (He's actually helped me numerous times, it's because of him I got this house) and he's the closest thing I got to a pal or roommate, so I just don't bother investigating the matter.

_We must direct ourselves toward more useful endeavors,_ the voice continues. _For example: _that _was a rather large robot-._

_No shit, Sherlock, _I respond mentally.

_ShutupI'mtalking, _he snaps at me. After clearing his inexistent throat, he says, _and it was being followed by two strange men…_

I think to myself, _were there two strange men? I was too busy freaking ou- I mean, too busy focusing on my mantra that I kinda zoned out for a moment._

If he heard my thoughts, he must have ignored them. _We must chart the winding course of our destiny, _he said in a "dare-to-be-badass" sort of way. _What say you?_

I sighed again. _Well, _I contemplated, _today was supposed to be an ordinary, do-nothing day; I'd mill about the house, doin' my thang, handling my awesome garden, maxin', relaxin' all cool, when that bitch comes and has the _gall _to _literally_ crush my expectations of the day, not to mention my house, my stuff, _and _my freaking garden! It is so totally on you metalwork bastard! _I flip off the machine, now way off in the distance. It can't see me now, but I don't care, I'm too pissed at this point.

_That's the spirit! _says the voice, barely containing his excitement. _Onward!_

_Yes, _I answer with a clenched fist. _'Tis time to cry havoc and let slip the dogs of... well, do something to some kind of dog…_

_We best be on our way. _The voice reminds me. _I'm sure it will come to you eventually._

_Oh, right, _I says. I take a few steps off my property before stopping, turning around to pick back up my weapon of choice: The rake. I grasp it in both hands and whisper to it,

"Come rake, let us begin our dark work!"

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><p>And so begins to tale of Carlos Winter: A story of action, laughter, rage, and friendship. But little did the would-be her know that his story would bring about a great cataclysm:<p>

The end of all things…


	2. Chapter 2: A Startling Encounter

So, first step on my quest for vengeance: Follow these huge-ass footprints to where that ginormous, walking wrecking ball has gone too. As I continue on past the other who live here, screaming and running around in a crazed panic, I slowly began to realize how stupid my plan actually sounds. _I mean, what am I gonna do once I find the chap, rake his toes out? Actually having a rake scrape your feet kinda hurts, I might do that anyway._

Before I can get any farther into my ponderings, the voice stops me. _Take heed, pupil, _he says.

_Hm? Didja find something? _I scan the road ahead, managing to identify two small contraptions just like that big bulky bastard, only they almost come up to my shins and their eyes are a light blue color instead of red. And they appear to be perpetually stuck in a pelvic thrusting motion, which drew my eyes to their most notable feature: a schlong _shoot_ on their pelvic regions that vaguely resembles the "out" end of a juicer. In fact, the smaller chumps look exactly like fruit juicers except with limbs and eyes.

_These deviants are part a recent phenomenon in New Arcadia, _my invisible pal informs me. _Their carnal appetite for fresh fruit drives them to tiny acts of vulgarity._

_Well, that explains the little fuckers' thrusting, _I answer. Then the gears in my head start a-turn, turn, turnin'. _Wait… fuckers… fresh fruit… Fruit Fuckers? Eh, good name as any, I guess. Plus, bonus points for alliteration._

The tin cans finally notice me staring at them and scurry over to me. One goes, "Tck… 01100110 01110101 011000111 01101011?"

I has no idea what the thing was saying, "Um, hello?" I say. In an attempt to show them I mean them no harm (I only want the bigger one, these little guys haven't done anything to me), I weakly hold out my hand as a sign of peace.

Too bad they didn't seem to like that gesture. They jolt up as if surprised and surround me, poised for attack. "Tck… 01100110 01110101 01100011 01101011!" the other exclaims before leaping up at me!

In that moment, time seemed to slow down to a crawl. I freak out for a split second, fearing the barely big beast may try to latch onto my face and force some disgusting fluid down my throat. I give out an "Ach!" and instinctively swat at it with my rake. The poor sap goes flying into a nearby telephone pole and explodes (!) upon impact. After shortly marveling at the unexpected combustion, I sigh, squeezing the bridge of my nose in annoyance as I mutter, "Goddamn moonspeak…"

The other, less scrutiny-inducing one freezes for a moment mid-thrust. "Tck… You killed FF-M01…" it says in a somber monotone. For a moment there, I feel kinda sorry for the guy; I probably just killed his one and only friend in the whole world. Note that I said "a moment"because the very next moment, the tin can sprints up to me grabs my leg and starts humping it, all the while repeating that I killed his pal, this time in a rage.

Normally, having this small bugger hump my leg so furiously would make me kind of aggravated and only mildly disgusted. But since these punks have dicks of literal iron, it's basically stabbing me in the leg over and over again, and it hurts like a _mother_fucker. "Aah! Aah! Get off me you bastard!" I scream as I attempt to stop the Fucker from painfully penetrating my leg. After hopping around like an idiot on my safe leg for a few seconds, I fall flat on my ass. Seeing as the one-legged rabbit maneuver is getting me nowhere fast, I take up yon rake and finally manage to pry the chugging chump from my leg, sending him tumbling a few feet into the air, and decide to take the awesome route: Batter at the ready, I give one hell of a one-liner:

"Hit a _**Graaaaannnd Slaaaaaaam**_!"

_WHAM!_ Direct hit! The horny soup can goes flying straight into the same pole as before with the same results as last time. I rest my mighty 'bot-slaying weapon on my shoulder, feeling a great amount of satisfaction from that impressive maneuver. Unfortunately, my companion thinks otherwise.

_You are so rather corny, dear Winter._ He says in a deadpan voice.

_Way to be positive, pally-o, _I retort.

_Who's to say it was? _he also retorts, still in a deadpan tone.

I sigh, no longer caring and continue on my way, stepping over the scraps of my fallen foes.

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><p>Sometime down the way, the voice stops me once again. I look in to my left and notice a bright yellow cat lying on a house's porch. Yeah, Mr. Voice here really likes cats for some reason. I could care less. Not to say that I <em>hate <em>cats, per se. I just prefer they stay out of my way, especially when I'm out on revenge quests.

_It appears to be beckoning you tither! _Voicey tries to convince me. I look a little closer at the feline, it's not beckoning me anywhere. In fact, it appears to be asleep.

_Dude, we don't have time to gawk at the animals. Hello! Revenge! Remember? _I plead.

_You _will_ approach that cat. Now, _he demands, sending a light surge of pain into my mind. Oh yeah, something you should know: McVoicerton here somehow gives me a painful headache anytime I do something he really dosen't want me to do (Read: Ignoring cutesy kittens). I begrudgingly comply and walk up to the sleeping lion.

The cat stirs as I kneel down to it, appraising my pained expression. "Hey, cat." I say to it.

"Mrowowl?" it mewls in response.

"Is that so? I never noticed."

Voice Guy catches my snark, unamused, and orders me to pet it. I do so, paying special attention to the chin and ear regions, which the cat seems to like. The cat seems soft, I mean, I couldn't tell because I neglected to remove my work gloves before setting out. I notice the worn collar around his neck and are clearly able to make out the name "T. Kemper."

After briefly wondering what the T stands for, I stand back up. At least, I tried to but the leg wound from the previous fight I has completely forgotten about causes my legs to buckle. The cat didn't even try to help me. Bastard. Using the rake as a third leg, I'm able to push myself back up and walk away. The cat immediately forgets about me and proceeds to lick himself. Voice Man makes no attempt to stop me, so I assume he's satisfied.


End file.
